


Whatever we have now

by appalachian_fireflies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ableist Language, Angst, Bad Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Lie Low At Lupin's (Harry Potter), M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, as in fumbling but consensual, cottage, graveyards, learned helplessness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 17:31:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18529807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appalachian_fireflies/pseuds/appalachian_fireflies
Summary: “Hello,” Remus greeted the great black dog at his doorstep, soaked through with mud and tail drooping pathetically.  “Albus said to expect you.”(Your standard Lie Low at Lupin's fic)





	Whatever we have now

**Author's Note:**

> just a gentle lil Lie Low at Lupin's, no real plot, sort of boring but posting in case someone wants the h/c :)

Remus could feel the thunderstorm approaching with the pressure in the air. In the rising heat of summer, cold fronts from the ocean clashed with hot air to let loose a crescendo of fat raindrops. In the vanishing light as dark clouds blotted out the last of the sun, Remus put away his quill and parchment and shuffled over to the kitchen to put on the kettle. 

He sat at the kitchen table while he waited, running the tips of his fingers over the corner where he’d chipped away at the wood so many years ago. His mother used to love the storms, the bangs of thunder that shook the little cottage while his father muttered preemptory waterproofing charms at the roof.

There was a soft tinkle of bells by the kitchen sink, followed by a deep, resonant chime in the foyer. Someone, or something, had just passed the wards.

Remus stood from the table and took out his wand, not lighting it even though the cottage had grown dark. After his ignominious retreat from Hogwarts a year past, he could never be too sure who might come calling. 

There was a scrabbling sound on the other side of the front door, like claws scraping into wood. Remus let out a breath, wand still at his side but heart slowing. He flicked his wand at the door handle, taking a step backward as it turned. 

Ahead of him, there was nothing but the wind whipping through the tall grass, cold air and stinging rain. He looked down. 

“Hello,” he greeted the great black dog at his doorstep, soaked through with mud and tail drooping pathetically. “Albus said to expect you.” He stood aside and the dog padded in, letting out a relieved huff as the door swung shut behind him. 

A piercing whistle broke the silence, and the dog looked up sharply, canine eyes luminous in the dark. 

“Just the kettle,” Remus explained, heading toward the living room with its plush couches, patched by hand several times over the years. He pointed his wand at the fireplace and flames lit up in the grate, licking at the wood. Remus could smell the pine needles he’d thrown in starting to burn. 

The dog made its way over onto the hearth rug, limping slightly, and sprawled in front of the fire with a sigh. 

“Would you like a cuppa?” Remus asked, and the dog moved only a pair of dark black eyes up to meet his, wet snout huffing into the carpet.

“Too tired, eh?” Remus sympathized, walking over to the kitchen to remove the kettle from the stovetop. “That’s alright. Not as if we have to do the passwords. Only so many animagi that are great silly dogs tracking mud through my mum’s rugs.” He carried a mug to the overstuffed armchair and sat, sipping with one hand and transfiguring a pillow from the couch with another. When he’d finished, he set it on the floor, large enough for the dog to crawl atop.

Padfoot’s eyes drooped as Remus sat beside him, amber firelight flickering across stone walls. The rain on the roof was a steady tap, thunder moving off into the distance. Remus thought, idly, that the room reeked of wet dog, and that the scent was familiar and comforting. After a long while he stood to leave, and Padfoot snored on.

*

When Remus came downstairs the next morning Sirius was puttering around in the kitchen, toasting bread on a skillet and humming to himself. Remus watched him for a moment, clothes stiff with dried mud and hair a tangle, wand tapping on the countertop. He looked a sight better than he had in the Shack; Remus couldn’t help but try to push that image of Sirius away, hair trailing down his back and face skeletal, his lips pulled back in a canine snarl at the sight of the rat. He still looked horribly thin, and he twitched a little as he swayed from side to side with the beat. When Remus drew in a breath Sirius startled badly, knocking the skillet to the floor with a loud clatter. 

“Bugger,” Sirius muttered, levitating the remains of his toast from the floor and giving the pieces a squint before popping them into his mouth. He looked over at Remus as he levitated the pan back on to the stove. “Morning. Hope you don’t mind.” He looked down at the pan, awkward. 

“Not if you’ll make me some,” Remus said easily, going to the fridge to retrieve the eggs; it was an old chrome monster, the only model his father’s magic hadn’t managed to destroy and leave his mum with spoiled milk. 

Sirius silently buttered the skillet and put two more slices of bread down. Remus could hear the hiss and pop as the metal grew hot. Through the lace curtains above the stove bright sunlight filtered in, illuminating half of Sirius’ face and casting the other half in shadow. 

“How many eggs would you like?” Remus asked, cracking two for himself. 

“Hm?” Sirius looked at him, then cleared his throat. “Ah, two’s fine, thank you.”

Remus smiled down at the pan; Sirius’ good breeding tended to kick in when he was taken by surprise. The cool air and casual muggle slang had always been him trying his hardest. 

“I hadn’t heard from you in a while,” Remus said. “I’d hoped you’d gone off somewhere warm again.”

Sirius shook his head. “Couldn’t leave Harry.” At the mention of Harry’s name, Sirius seemed to lose his train of thought, staring through the white curtains. 

Remus leaned over to scoop his spatula under the toast and flip it. Sirius blinked, looking back down at the slightly charred sides. 

“Sorry,” Sirius returned his attention to the toast, wand hovering. 

“’S alright, I don’t mind.” Remus thought around for a topic; he was used to Sirius filling up the silences. “It’s about to be warmer here. Should be quite nice today.” 

“That’s good,” Sirius replied, flipping the toast onto a plate where Remus had already piled eggs, bright blue china pattern chipped in more than one spot. He took the other and turned to carry it to the table.

“Sirius?”

Sirius turned, his head tilted slightly to the side, hair just brushing his shoulder. 

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Sirius gave him a smile, and reached out to grasp Remus’ shoulder. “I am too.”

Sirius consumed his eggs in silence, got up to pilfer more toast, then was promptly sick. 

“Too much too fast,” Remus commiserated, brewing him a cup of ginger tea. He had a sudden memory of Sirius holding a bucket under his chin while he heaved up a hare Moony had eaten, James and Peter hovering in the background.

“Happens,” Sirius shrugged, wiping his mouth. He licked his teeth, and took a swig of the tea. “Could use a toothbrush, though. And a bath.” 

“Yes,” Remus looked him over. “I can probably find you some of my dad’s old clothes.” He hadn’t gone through his da’s things yet, but he could imagine him berating Remus for considering leaving perfectly good clothing lying around. “You’ll probably have to roll the pants, but he was a bit smaller than I am.” 

“Ta,” Sirius said, scratching behind his ear. “Actually,” he turned away from Remus’ gaze, “have you got any of that flea soap?” 

“I can make some,” he replied. “Be up in a minute if you want to get the bath running.”

Sirius disappeared quietly, and Remus was left to gather up the herbs in the kitchen, crushing them with a pestle until the sharp scent of rosemary coated his fingers. He could hear the pipes groan as the water began to run; it was odd of Sirius not to use magic, but then again he never had done in the cottage, careful not to break Remus’ mum’s electronics.

Remus went up the short flight of stairs, past the family photos on the wall, some moving, others frozen in time. He passed the open bathroom door and continued to the end of the hall, opening the door to his parents’ room. His father’s room, for more than a decade now. 

The handle stuck, giving way only with a considerable amount of pressure. The curtains were drawn, the room dark and smelling of dust. Remus opened them and jumped out of the way as a doxy flew out; he would have to fix that later. He rummaged quickly through dresser drawers for the smallest shirt and pair of trousers he could find, then left the room and shut the door behind him. 

“Sirius?” he tapped on the door before he stepped in. 

Padfoot was lying in the bath, only his snout tipped above the water. He stood at the noise, and Remus could see his slight turn before the shake. 

“Don’t you dare,” Remus warned.

Padfoot whined but remained still, dripping mud into the tub instead of flinging it onto the walls.

Remus lathered his hands with the water and mix of herbs, then rubbed it into the fur on Padfoot’s back. He slipped into the routine easily, barely paying attention as he worked the soap into the skin; he’d done this easily a couple dozen times, every time Padfoot got into some garbage or sniffed the wrong cat. The poor bugger seemed to attract fleas like a magnet, and Sirius would complain loudly that he could feel the fleas’ phantom itch under his skin, unable to reach them.

“I was just thinking, about the moon when I ate that rabbit,” Remus mused, rubbing the lather through Padfoot’s ears. “Madame Pomfrey gave me a potion for parasites. Reckon we ought to do that. Might be making you ill.”

Padfoot huffed, neither agreement nor dissent. “Duck,” Remus instructed, rinsing the soap from Padfoot’s face and working underneath his chin. “Alright, I think that’s most of it. Here,” Remus charmed the water with a tap of his wand and a flea floated to the surface, quite dead. “Sit here for a bit, just to be sure.” He stood and rinsed his hands at the sink, leaving the clothes folded on top of a stack of towels. 

“I’ve got some errands to run. Do whatever you like. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

By the time Remus returned, Padfoot was already asleep on the living room cushion, now spotless with cleaning charms. His nose twitched as Remus settled into the armchair to read, but he soon settled again, and did not stir until Remus left.

When Remus woke in his bed the next morning, Padfoot was sleeping on the floor beside him, cushion dragged up from the living room. At the creak of the bedsprings, Padfoot woke with a sleepy yawn and stretched, paws sliding on the wood floor then stopping at an errant nail poking up through the boards.

By the time Remus had made it to the bedroom door, Sirius had taken Padfoot’s place. His trousers were rolled several times at the ankle, Remus’ father’s button down hanging off his gaunt frame. 

Remus swallowed, and looked away. “We ought to go to the shops. There are some secondhand stores that should do you fine. You can pick out what you like- they won’t mind if Padfoot comes in.” 

“I don’t want to put you out,” Sirius said. His voice seemed to have a permanent rasp now, one that Remus had never associated with his aristocratic crispness. Though, Remus was sure, his own voice had only grown more hoarse over the years.

“It’s no trouble. I have to go into town today anyway,” Remus replied, deliberately misunderstanding his meaning. 

They ate breakfast in silence, Remus breaking it to do the washing up. He liked to do it the muggle way, sometimes; it gave him something to do with his hands, time to think. At the cottage’s kitchen sink, decades old chipped plates in hand, he could picture taking them from his mother do to the drying.

“Alright, Moony?” Sirius’ voice came up beside him, and Remus flinched at the name. No one had called him Moony in so long; it felt absurd, as if Sirius were addressing a stranger, someone Remus could now hardly recall. 

“Course,” Remus gave him a smile as Sirius leaned against the counter, watching him. 

“How’ve you been?” Sirius looked him over. “Haven’t seen you use the cane. The potion helping?”

Remus nods. “Yes,” he agreed. “Albus sends it. Ostensibly for the work I do, but,” he shrugged. “Nothing I do for the Order could possibly cover the cost. I’ve swallowed my pride on the matter for now.” He smiled, uncomfortable. “Still use the cane sometimes, though,” he nodded toward where it rested by the door. “You’ve happened to catch me at a good point in the month.”

Sirius tugged at his loose sleeve, pulling it up to reveal his forearm. Beside thick black runes was another tattoo, shimmering slightly, faded with age. The thin sliver of a waxing crescent could be made out in the morning light. 

“So I have,” Sirius said, his tone soft. Remus looked away. 

“Mostly farmers and muggle shops around here,” Remus said, placing the plates and cups in the drying rack. “Not sure the shop’ll have anything you like.”

Sirius pushed Remus’ shoulder with his palm, then handed him a towel. “Stop fretting. Let’s go.”

“Cabin fever,” Remus smiled, remembering Sirius’ utter inability to sit still when he’d visited. Remus could remember him running toward the fields, ready to transform into Padfoot once they’d disappeared from his parents’ sight- he froze, halfway through looping the towel around the oven handle. 

Of course Sirius wouldn’t want to stay locked indoors for too long. He looked up at this Sirius’ gaunt figure, the hollows permanently etched around his eyes. He thought of Padfoot by the fire- the North Sea was cold, even during the summer. He’d seen the prison rags, and he doubted Sirius’s cell had come with a fireplace. Twelve years of winter’s chill, without any respite. He put the towel back on the rack. 

“It’s not far,” he opened the door, and Padfoot strode out, a bounce in his step. “Twenty minute walk to town.” 

The packed dirt of the drive continued over the hill until it met a single lane gravel road. The grasshoppers were a constant low whir as the sun rose above them, catching on Padfoot’s coat and making it shine. There were flecks of grey in the black; we match, Remus thought idly, at the ripe old age of 35. 

In the shop, Padfoot nosed at a few shirts and pairs of trousers, Remus vetoing a bright red monstrosity Padfoot was too colorblind to notice. The shopkeeper was thrilled with Padfoot, and insisted on offering him a biscuit until he dutifully snapped it up. 

Padfoot exited the shop to turn back towards home, and turned to look back at Remus when he did not follow. 

“You can head back,” Remus offered. “Like I said, I’ve got an errand. I might be a while.” Remus turned, and heard the click of Padfoot’s claws on the cobblestones follow. 

He crossed down through main street, smiling at tourists who turned from street bookshelves to coo at Padfoot. He turned down narrow roads that wound through the outskirts, small stone buildings with cheerily painted doors and shop windows full of fairy lights. At the outskirts, he saw Briallen and gave her a little wave. There were few magical folk around here, and they tended to give one another a nod if they passed. She looked away; it was hardly surprising, given what had been published about him after Hogwarts.

The wizarding cemetery was old and semi-derelict; the muggles didn’t notice it, and the few magical folk had stopped tending to it. He passed through the gate and made his way down three rows, then to the right, and knelt down. 

The cemetery was empty, the sounds of the town far-off. He could hear the swish of air as Sirius changed, and the mutter of a disillusionment charm. 

“How long?” Sirius asked, standing beside him. 

“A year today. Passed in his sleep.”

He could feel the warmth of Sirius’ hand hovering above his shoulder, then finally resting there. “I’m sorry.”

Remus shrugged. “It was peaceful.”

“He was young.”

Remus was quiet for a moment, looking at the simple headstone he’d carved himself. He’d had his father’s remains cremated, just to be sure. During the first war, he’d been plagued by nightmares of coming to visit only to find his hollowed out corpse, shambling around the kitchen. He hoped to hell this war might be spared that terror.

“Most of him went with mum, I think,” Remus said finally. “It’s cruel to say, but I think he’d agree. He never could get over what the Death Eaters did to her.”

The hand on his shoulder gripped tighter.

“It’s been a long time,” Remus patted the hand on his shoulder. 

“Doesn’t feel like it,” Sirius rasped. “Not to me.”

Remus looked up to him. “I’m sorry, Pads. You never got a break from the war, did you?”

Sirius didn’t reply, just looked down at the gravestones. “We’ll have to bury a lot more of us soon.”

“It’s true, then? Voldemort’s returned.”

Sirius nodded. “Harry saw him. Poor lad. I want…” he rolled his wand over in his hand. “I want this to be over for him. So he can rest. Be a kid for a while longer. Build a life.”

“It all feels distant here, doesn’t it?” Remus wiped dirt from his mother’s gravestone. “I suppose that’s why we didn’t see it coming. We should have.” 

Sirius removed his hand from Remus’ shoulder, and sat down beside him. He moved his wand in an arc over Hope Lupin’s tombstone, and a cluster of white poppies burst from the ground.

“Harry will have a peaceful life, one day,” Sirius said. “I’ll do my damndest to get him there.”

“You won’t be alone,” Remus gave him a small smile. “We won before. I believe we will again.”

Sirius nodded. “I don’t doubt it. Not really. I just don’t want to face the suffering it’ll take to get there.”

Remus nodded. “The first time ‘round... didn’t take long for the shine to wear off, did it?”

Sirius shook his head. “You’ll be talking about James and I. You had the sense to realize it wasn’t going to be like winning the Quidditch Cup.” He looked over at Remus. “What were you doing back then, really?”

“Spending time with dark creatures, like you thought. Werewolves, mostly. Joined a pack trying to convince them to join the Order, or at least stop them from going to Voldemort. I didn’t often succeed. Greyback was very convincing, and the Order had a high toll.”

Sirius closed his eyes briefly. “Of course. Of course you were. I’m such a gods-damned idiot.”

“It helped, knowing you were out there,” Remus changed the topic.

“What?” Sirius’ eyes snapped open. 

“When he died, last summer,” Remus pointed at the tombstone. “I knew I wasn’t completely alone. It helped.”

Sirius’ expression softened, and he slipped his hand inside Remus’ and squeezed it. “Of course you have me. For however long you want me.”

Remus swallowed, remembering the last time Sirius had said those same words, before they’d let fear and suspicion tear them apart. “Can I have just a minute? To talk to my dad?”

“Course,” Sirius stood, and walked back to the cemetery gate, waiting until Remus joined him. 

That night, Sirius made no pretense of sleeping in the living room, dragging the cushion in behind Remus and transforming into Padfoot. He turned a circle then lay down, closing his eyes. Remus sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at him.

“Sirius,” he said softly, and Padfoot’s eyes opened, dark and liquid. Remus patted the mattress. “Why don’t you come up here?”

Padfoot stood, hesitant, but when Remus said nothing further he leapt on the bed. Remus laughed. “Sirius.”

Padfoot huffed a sigh and shifted back, Sirius’ curtain of black hair falling over his face. 

“Come on,” Remus tugged at his arm until Sirius was lying down, Remus at his back. Remus looped an arm around his waist; he could feel Sirius’ heartbeat, rapid and strong. 

“Shh,” Remus tucked his nose into the back of his hair, and when he breathed in it was so familiar he had to close his eyes. “Let’s just sleep.” 

“I have- nightmares,” Sirius rasped. “That if I’m human, the dementors will find me when I’m asleep. And I’ll wake up, but I can’t breathe because they’re already,” he shivered. “And this time, I’ll be alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Remus said simply, letting his fingers trail down Sirius’ arm until he relaxed.

“That feels,” Sirius’ breath caught and he tugged Remus close, until there was no space left to separate them. He let out a long, shuddering sigh, and in a few minutes his breathing had evened out.

“Nox,” Remus whispered, carefully trying not to think of how foolish this was, of how many ways it could go wrong, of allowing himself to grow close again with a war just beginning.

*

The summer had settled in to Hay-on-Wye, and Sirius basked in the sunshine, lying out on the porch or in the tall grass or sitting by the windows. 

They’d been sleeping together for about a week when Remus woke to Sirius’ lips on his throat, pale morning light peeking through the curtains, hazy and unreal. He lay back and let Sirius touch him; he’d learned the hard way that Sirius did not like to be kissed anymore. 

Sirius tugged off Remus’ underpants, then his own, breath ragged as he pressed his bare skin against Remus’, his cock leaving a wet line across Remus’ belly as he moved. Remus placed his hand on Sirius’ lower back, trailed his fingers over the sensitive jut of his hip bone, smiling when Sirius made a surprised sound of pleasure. 

“Like that?” Remus nuzzled at Sirius’ throat, and Sirius’ breath caught. Then his body went still, no longer yielding. Remus pulled back. 

“Sirius?” he blinked, still not quite awake.

Sirius’ eyes were closed; Remus pulled back to look at him and Sirius covered his face with his hands. His lips were moving, but Remus couldn’t make out the words.

“Sirius?” he repeated, alarmed. 

“They’re coming,” Sirius whispered, and the dread in his voice made the small hairs on the back of Remus’ neck rise. 

“Who?”

“The dementors. You should leave. They’ll take it away from you too.”

“Take- Sirius, there aren’t any dementors here.”

Sirius shook his head. “They always find me. I can’t get away.”

“If- if the dementors did come here,” Remus’ brain clicked back online, “We could drive them off with a patronus. Or we could apparate.”

Sirius chuckled, a low, wet sound, and shook his head. He did not remove his hands from his eyes, and Remus could see his fingers trembling. He reached out, wanting to give comfort, but Sirius flinched away. 

Remus stood and pulled the curtain open, letting sunlight flood the room. “Sirius, can you open your eyes for me?”

“I don’t like to see it happen,” Sirius whispered. “When they take things from me.”

“Trust me,” Remus said. “Open your eyes.” 

Remus could see Sirius’ eyes open from behind his fingers, taking him in, looking around the room and resting on the window. Slowly, his hands fell as he took in the green grass, the willow by the creek swaying in the wind.

They sat side by side on the bed for a long moment, silent, looking out the window together. 

“I’m sorry I’m crazy,” Sirius said, not looking at Remus.

“I don’t care if you’re crazy,” Remus said, startling Sirius into looking back at him. 

Sirius laughed. “Well, you knew it was in the blood when you…” he trailed off. 

Remus wasn’t sure himself what he would have called it. They couldn’t have gotten married, not officially, but they’d been together longer than James and Lily had. 

Sirius shuffled over to Remus, pulling him into his arms then tugging the covers over their bodies. “Who was your longest relationship, while I was gone? Man? Woman?”

“Woman,” Remus said. “And it lasted just over a month.” 

Sirius turned to look at him, surprised. “Because of…”

Remus shook his head. “I was always the one to break it off.”

“Why?” Sirius looked at him, curious. 

Remus shrugged. “Seemed better, that way. Smarter.”

Sirius frowned, letting his fingers trace down the scars on Remus’ torso, shining in the light. “I don’t like to think of you being alone.”

Remus shrugged. “It was better that way.”

“No,” Sirius said, upset. “No, it wasn’t. And I promised you, I told you you’d never have to be alone again.”

Remus drew back, hit suddenly with the shock of memories he’d tried to forget for the past decade, ones that would take him by surprise on a crowded bus in New Delhi or sleeping alone in a tent in the Himalayas. The way Sirius had said it, exactly that intonation- first after the animagus transformation, then the lunar cycle tattoo, then a dozen whispered times afterward, _you don’t have to do this alone._ He’d trusted Sirius, whole heart and soul, the way you only really do when you’re young. Sirius knew him; he knew the hardest part of his lycanthropy was being alone with it, not able to tell anyone, not able to trust, to ask for any comfort. Damn him for bringing it up now. Remus had been young and foolish. He wasn’t that person anymore, and he certainly did not need that anymore. And he was fine on his own- he hadn’t turned out to be the bitter, cruel man that he’d feared he might.

“Please don’t,” Remus heard himself say. “Whatever we have, for right now- it’s alright.”

“I meant it,” Sirius said, trying to make Remus meet his gaze. “You always thought I’d just up and leave whenever I realized I should shake you loose. But we were your family, Remus. We never meant to leave you alone.”

“I know you meant it,” Remus replied. He’d thought over this enough to figure it out. “At the time. And I understand, people change, and that’s really alright-“

“No,” Sirius cut him off, short. Remus was almost glad for it; there had been something off with Sirius’ lack of moods. “Whatever you’ve thought of me these past years- I never manipulated your trust. I broke it, once. But I promised you I wouldn’t break it again, and I never did.”

After the Prank with Severus, it had taken months for Sirius to atone. It had taken years for Remus to fully trust the marauders weren’t going to shout his secret from the rooftop when they were angry with him- and to be proven right, have that trust broken so completely… after 1981 he would look back on it and think, I was a fool, I should have known, a person’s actions speak louder than their words.

“Remus,” Sirius started, and Remus cut him off.

“Please, not right now,” Remus said, lacing their fingers together. “Can we just be together right now?”

Sirius pulled Remus close and they lay there for a moment, breathing together, listening to the chatter of birds outside the window. He kissed Remus’ temple. “Alright.” 

Remus turned to face him, running the tips of his fingers over Sirius’ cheekbone, looking into his grey eyes. He laughed so little now. He used to laugh all the time, him and James together, even during the war.

“Can I ask you something? About the dementors?”

Sirius stiffened, but nodded. 

“You said, if you were alone, and they came-“ Remus could feel Sirius’ shudder against his skin. “Sorry. I’m just worried, that you might do- what you did, again, and not defend yourself.”

Sirius gave a huff of a laugh, showing canines. “What else would I do?”

“Anything,” Remus said, upset at the thought. Of how close Sirius truly had come to being kissed- he practically had been, had gotten lucky at the last second that Harry had managed a corporeal patronus, had known the charm at all.

“I can’t cast a patronus, Remus. And you know as well as I that anything else isn’t likely to hold them off. They felt,” he shivered, “gods, they felt so excited, like they were all pressing forwards to be the one to take me.”

“Have you tried?” Remus said reasonably.

Sirius drew back, looking at him. “Remus, they had me for twelve years. There’s nothing left. Harry asked me about his parents’ wedding the other day, and I made something up because I remember fuck all about that night. I remember James dead more than I remember him alive.” 

Remus swallowed, and found he had nothing to say.

Sirius shook his head. “I can try. I just can’t promise you anything.” He tucked his face against Remus’ neck. “Can we stop talking about dementors, now?”

“Yes,” Remus brushed the hair out of Sirius’ face. “I’m sorry.”

*

The days moved slowly; despite Remus’ odd jobs and his work for the Order, it felt as if they’d gotten the summer off before school, one last time. The cottage was peaceful, the sun bright overhead as Sirius relaxed in the long afternoons. Remus was right. It was easy to forget that there was a world beyond the cottage and its fields. 

To pass the time, Sirius indulged in elaborate fantasies of throwing up the wards and never leaving. Of he and Remus stumbling their way through truly terrible sex, laughing at each other all the while. Running away somewhere- he thought Remus could get used to Bali on the sizeable remainder of the Black fortune. Sometimes, he thought, if it weren’t for Harry he’d have already done it. He’d done his time, paid in blood and misery and loss. 

He tried not to think of what Remus was doing out in the world. On longer days, he imagined Albus bringing him Remus’ body, limp and broken. _I’m sorry, but he fought bravely._ Chin up, there’s a war to be won. If you don’t fight, who will?

They practiced the patronus, Sirius failing over and over to manage a wisp of light until Remus wondered aloud how he would defend Harry if Voldemort sent dementors after him, and Sirius felt the magic come to him, move through him. 

It wasn’t a happy thought, but it was love, and it was strong enough.

*

The sex was so hilariously bad that they fell off the bed more than once when Sirius had a little panic, and he pretty much never kept a hard-on because having a wank in Azkaban was something you only did if you were utterly mental. 

When he finally did come, it caught him by surprise, Remus’ body pressed up against his and their hands nowhere near his cock. They both paused, stunned.

“Did you just-“ Remus started.

“Oh,” Sirius wiped at his cum on Remus’ stomach with his hand, still a bit bleary with the early morning. “Yes!”

Remus grinned like they’d just pulled off a particularly elaborate prank, a little wild. 

“Going back to sleep now,” Sirius informed him, pulling the covers back over them and shuffling closer.

Remus huffed a laugh, running his fingers through Sirius’ hair until he drifted off. 

They continued to have terrible sex afterward, but he didn’t quite mind; it was like being young again, fumbling their way towards something easy. 

*

Sirius received the letter in late summer. The parchment was too heavy for Harry’s scrawled letters, the red wax seal terribly official. It sat on the table between them as they ate breakfast, then did the washing up, then dithered a bit as they talked in the kitchen.

Remus watched Sirius over the rim of a fresh mug of tea as he broke the seal and slid the letter out, then sat down.

“Is Harry alright?” Remus asked. 

Sirius nodded, reading the letter over once more. 

“Has anyone-“

“Everyone’s fine.” He paused. “Dumbledore wants me to open Grimmauld Place. As soon as possible.”

“He wants you to go back there?” Remus sat his mug down and tugged the letter from Sirius’ hands. “Why on earth-“

“Headquarters. Makes sense. It’s hidden- the wards on it are blood magic, and it’s had over a hundred years to accumulate defenses worthy of the family paranoia.” Sirius looked outside, over the grassy fields. It would be getting colder, soon; the days would grow shorter, darker. The grass would shrivel and dry up, brittle stalks snapping in the cold wind. “I’ll go tomorrow.”

“I’m coming with you,” Remus replied, setting his mug down. “If that’s alright. I mean, you might need a hand.”

Sirius felt something unknot in his chest, and he breathed out. “Yeah. Thanks.” 

Remus looked at him for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. “We’re in this together now, right?”

“That’s right,” Sirius smiled, mouth going dry. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

“’Til death do us part, then,” Remus replied, watching him.

“Yes,” Sirius agreed. “Until then.”


End file.
